


take me home (forever and ever)

by nasaplates



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Bondage, Comeplay, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Married Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 18:44:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21360937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasaplates/pseuds/nasaplates
Summary: He doesn't know Jeonghan's plans, wouldn't know even if he spoke them aloud, liar that he is, impish smile, impish heart. But he knows his husband will catch him. This is a trust fall performed for the thousandth time.
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 34
Kudos: 103





	take me home (forever and ever)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadlylampshades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlylampshades/gifts).

> this is indulgent and frankly unhinged married kinky vaguely power-play-y fluff, written to commemorate the birth of the sister I wish I'd had all my life. have a fantastic day darling, I love you to bits

Jeonghan sets the coiled rope on the low coffee table like he's throwing down a gauntlet. Joshua continues to swirl the wine in his glass, contemplating the legs, the rich deep red. He takes a deep lungful of the bouquet, cherry and wood smoke. Curious that it should fill the mouth so, chocolate, a touch of that same woodsmoke, something bright, too, like citrus, a lingering tang of pennies. 

"Purple," Jeonghan states the obvious. "Fitting for my prince." He strokes the backs of the fingers of one hand over Joshua's cheek. The statement isn't really a compliment. Jeonghan is often like that, trickster in word and deed. He isn't fond of royalty. He is fond of purple. And Joshua.

The ropes are a surprise, and they aren't. Jeonghan's surprises are usually thoughtful, predictable, mentioned beforehand by one or the other of them. It's the timing that shocks. He'd walked in stark naked, once, a buttplug Joshua had ordered online in his ass, his cock hard and proud. Joshua had been on an important business call. He'd stared, dark and hungry, never missing a beat of the discussion, while Jeonghan pulled dainty too-light fingers on his own cock, lip bitten on moans just soft enough not to be picked up on the other end of the line.

The ropes are like that, though admittedly less disruptive. It's an ordinary night, nothing specific to do, no birthday or anniversary to celebrate. Joshua had brought up having liked bondage precisely 23 days ago, during a scene in a film they'd been watching, twisted together like braided rope on the couch. He knew Jeonghan hadn't forgotten, wouldn't, not given the way he had grinned. Knew Jeonghan always lived by his own calendar, unfathomable to mere mortals.

Joshua set down his glass on the side table and stood languidly, absently unbuttoning his shirt with the slow fingers of one hand. With the other he stroked the thin, elegant rope. Soft. His husband is always so scrupulous about these things. Agent of chaos he may be, but only insofar as it suits him.

"Well," he murmurs from the doorway, shirt unbuttoned, turning only his head so his voice carries over his shoulder. "Are you going to use that on me? Or stare at it all night?"

Joshua doesn't wait for an answer, simple sheds his shirt and catches it, dangling, from the fingertips of his right hand. Jeonghan snickers, but Joshua hears him follow, his ears heightened to the soft shush of him picking up the rope. He smiles, tosses the shirt into the hamper as he passes. The metallic sounds of undoing his belt buckle seem to echo through the room.

The wine has gone to his head pleasantly, the world padded, and also sharp, a study in contrasts. Time travels oddly, syrup slow one moment, slipping like sand the next. Jeonghan is in front of him, cologne rich in his nostrils, slipping into his open mouth and complementing the wine. Sparkling eyes and deft fingers undoing his zip, stroking over his swelling cock through his briefs. They kiss, syrup slow, toffee sweet, lingering tang of pennies on his tongue.

Nudity is different, like this, buzzed and halfway to subspace, swimming in lust so familiar it's like a candlelit bath. Joshua's heart rate rises, but steady. There is no skitter of nerves. He doesn't know Jeonghan's plans, wouldn't know even if he spoke them aloud, liar that he is, impish smile, impish heart. But he knows his husband will catch him. This is a trust fall performed for the thousandth time.

"Knees," Jeonghan says, tapping the outside of Joshua's leg. The carpet next to their bed is lush for precisely this purpose, the thud of his knees enough to feel, deliciously, shockwaves toe to hip.

Joshua looks up at Jeonghan, this angle as familiar as the last. He tips his head back, languid and loose. Jeonghan traces his fingertips over the chain around Joshua’s neck, travelling its golden length until he reaches the cross nestled on Joshua’s chest, weight as familiar as Jeonghan’s touch. With an indrawn hiss of breath, Jeonghan jerks his hand back, pretending he’s been burned, sucking on a fingertip, eyes sparkling in the halflight. It’s an old joke; Joshua had wanted a church wedding, Jeonghan had laughed loud and long and claimed he couldn’t walk on consecrated ground. 

In the haze of the moment Joshua swims in memory - their wedding on the beach; the reception filled with their smiling friends; the honeymoon, sinking into Jeonghan’s heat, the sunset painting him red and gold. He’d never once questioned the holiness of their union. If he’d been a priest, and Jeonghan a demon intent on his soul, he’d have given it, alms to the poor. Jesus, he’d always reasoned, would understand.

Jeonghan tweaks his nipple, playful and needy, bringing him home to his body, to this room, to this man. His forearms are already bound, wrist to elbow, palms facing, carefully loose, perfectly tight. It’s a lovely design, ropes doubled and criss-crossing, leaving diamonds of space, the purple looking gorgeous in contrast with his skin. With gentle hands, Jeonghan maneuvers Joshua’s left leg and begins a new tie there, ropes weaving around and between his thigh and calf, tying the two together. Jeonghan watches his face as much as he watches the ropes, attention tender and warm.

With one leg tied, Jeonghan guides it back to the floor so Joshua is kneeling again, comfortable even in his restraint. His body is buzzing, lazy summer weaving through his blood, bees humming through a field of flowers. The world goes soft around the edges as his lover cradles the firm muscle of his other thigh between his palms. Joshua has the faint urge to press his lips to Jeonghan’s bent head, breathe in the scent of him, the linger of their shared shampoo. But he rests, instead, body pliant in safety. There’s nothing he needs to do, here, and now. He will have his man, tonight, and tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that.

Ties complete and checked with warm fingers, Jeonghan positions him, fully kneeling now, nowhere to move without tipping over like a doll unseated from its place on a shelf. Jeonghan steps back, eyes taking in his handiwork, hot like a summer breeze across Joshua’s skin. Joshua’s cock fills, warm and pulsing, at the attention, at the control he doesn’t have to have anymore. He can want this. He can be wanted like this, Jeonghan’s fullness pressing against the zip of his pants, his eyes hungry, tongue reaching out over his bottom lip. Joshua wants that tongue inside him, but it’s a far off want, like a dream recalled in the middle of the day. He is still, waiting, want like a snake coiling around his body, slithering alongside the ropes.

“Beautiful,” Jeonghan murmurs, and Joshua arches into the sound, tilts his head and looks up at him through his eyelashes. He knows how to present himself, knows how his husband likes to look at him. Parted lips, neck bared, this body for him and him alone. 

Joshua wonders, sometimes, in crowded bars and on the train, surrounded by humanity, ten thousand things to do running through his mind, if Jeonghan, calm and curious where Joshua is gentle stone, knows that Joshua dreams of their bodies mingled when their souls are gone, bones turned over centuries to dust, of Joshua loving this man as long as even one part of them is sharing the earth. 

Joshua doesn’t wonder, here, and now, kneeling at Jeonghan’s feet. He doesn’t have to.

Time slips again, pulling away from him like the sea from the shore. 

The tip of Jeonghan’s cock is soft against his lips, saltbitter against his tongue when Joshua opens for him without thought; you belong to me, welcome home. The rings on Jeonghan’s fingers sit cold and heavy against Joshua’s scalp, counterpoint to the warm sticky velvet in his mouth, a grounding, an electrical current from one point to another. Joshua mouths along the length of him, a rumbling moan rising from his chest. He is velvet over steel, blood and life and want, need and control, vulnerability and strength. 

Joshua loves this part; the worship. _Hail Mary,_ counting rosary beads in the map of sensitive places along his husband’s flesh. Or maybe Psalm 23, if it isn’t too on the nose. _Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil,_ he incants in his mind as Jeonghan guides his jaw with his thumb, open wide. _Thy rod and thy staff comfort me,_ as he is lovingly fed his cock, filling him and filling him and filling him. Joshua closes his eyes and gives his beloved the use of him. His throat full, his lungs burning, he is at peace as Jeonghan takes what is so easily given. Joshua floats, higher and higher with each gasped relief of air, hungry for more, lonely without the weight of him on his tongue until he is whole again, needed again, a vessel and nothing more. Come sharp and overflowing in his mouth, down his throat, spilled down his chin, the last of it pouring over his cheeks and lips and nose with the moan ripped out of Jeonghan’s throat, ragged and reverent. _My cup runneth over._

The air is a blanket over Joshua’s ears, his eyes, his skin. He feels no pulse in his body, only the stickiness of Jeonghan painted on him, dripping from his chin. Joshua opens his eyes, slow, a droplet congealing on his eyelashes. Jeonghan looks down at him, eyes still on fire, eyes still drowning in love. Two fingers smear across Joshua’s face, gathering come, pressing it into him like it will stain, a claiming, Jeonghan’s face cocked in consideration of the image. Those two fingers press the come into Joshua’s mouth and Joshua sucks, greedy and diligent.

With a sudden movement, Jeonghan shoves him backwards, hand at the back of his head catching him in a cradle at the last moment, pillowing him even though the carpet is so deep Joshua wouldn’t have felt the impact at all. Joshua is left to flounder like that, even more powerless, even more exposed, legs splayed wide, hands lifted toward his face as if in prayer. 

Before he’s recovered from the change of position, Jeonghan, arched over him grinning, takes Joshua’s cock in his come and spit slick hand and starts to pull. Joshua, still hazy and sensitive, arches helplessly, shamelessly, something high and needy coming out of his chest. The motions are dry and tight, merciless, Jeonghan never looking away from Joshua’s eyes. His cross slides down into the dip of his collarbones, his fingers digging at the sides of his own neck.

“Please,” Joshua gasps between keens.

“Not yet,” Jeonghan tells him, and Joshua has to pinch his eyes shut against his own need. Jeonghan’s hand stops, and Joshua wails.

“Look at me, baby,” Jeonghan says. “You have to look at me before you can come.”

Joshua peels his eyes open, lolls his head to the side so he can see Jeonghan better, so he can find his way through the fog. Sounds are punched out of him with every motion of Jeonghan’s hand now, but he doesn’t care, couldn’t stop if he wanted to, and he doesn’t want to. The light in his husband’s eyes tells him he’s loved for this, too.

“Now.”

And that’s all it takes; star gone supernova, every last shred of control lost to the wind. He screams his release, and then sighs it, muscles gone tight and then all tension gone, no rules, no thoughts, no needs or wants, no calendars to somehow make sense. Just letting go, and being caught in familiar hands.

Joshua gathers himself in bits and pieces, scattered thoughts floating gently down to earth. Jeonghan unties him, keeping both hands on his skin at all times, gentle strokes, touches scattered but there. He gently maneuvers Joshua’s limbs for him, rubbing even though he never lost circulation in the first place, life pressed back into his flesh. He keeps one hand on Joshua’s thigh as he digs on the floor for Joshua’s briefs, which he uses to clean the come from Joshua’s skin. Relatively clean, Jeonghan drags the bedding down from the bed and wraps it into a cocoon around Joshua’s body, still tingling, suffused with warmth. Joshua drowses while Jeonghan gets up, goes to the bathroom, fills a glass with water. He cradles Joshua’s head, lifts it into his own lap, and raises the glass to Joshua’s lips so he can drink in slow sips.

The covers shift and then Jeonghan surrounds him again, arm and leg slung over him, head nestled into Joshua’s neck. 

Some time later, when Joshua feels whole again, still loose but present, Jeonghan snickers. Joshua peers at him through one eye, raises an eyebrow in question. Jeonghan, in answer, licks the shell of Joshua’s ear, making him squirm, until he tips Joshua’s head and kisses him, sloppy and open. The sharp taste of come floods Joshua’s mouth, and he laughs lazily into the kiss.

They settle again, breathing in tandem, unsure who’s body belongs to who anymore, who’s breath, who’s heart. They’ll get up soon, collapse into a pile onto the bed, uncaring if it’s made properly until morning. Jeonghan will surprise him again tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. Maybe with breakfast. Maybe with porn.

Joshua smiles, nestles his nose into the hair at the top of his husband’s head, and breathes in.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are life even if they're just "hey op are you ok?" (the answer is no) 
> 
> go wish ayesha a happy birthday, and/or gift her a comment on one of her fics! they're amazing and so is she, you won't regret it


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